


you're only as sick as your secrets

by paperdream



Series: daisy time travels and jon suffers au [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Caretaking, Crying, Forced Cohabitation, Gen, Injury, Jon whump, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Kidnapping, One sided friendship, Possessive Behavior, Time Travel, Unhealthy Relationships, Whump, ambiguous ending, brief tim and melanie but not enough to tag, daisy and elias are mlm wlw hostility, hurt/bad comfort, implied past major character death in an alternate future, like its p good for daisy but v much bad ending for jon, lowkey stockholm syndrome, open and honest communication? they've never heard of her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdream/pseuds/paperdream
Summary: In which Daisy time travels back from the apocalypse, saves Jon from herself, and just kinda forgets he has no idea what's going on.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: daisy time travels and jon suffers au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992145
Comments: 59
Kudos: 405
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. Daisy

**Author's Note:**

> oh look, a daisy time travel fic completely unrelated to my _other_ daisy time travel fic. daisy time travel 2: this time everyone suffers.
> 
> title from "Sleep At Night" by The Chicks, because I write 2 kinds of TMA fic, and that's fic with one word titles and fic with titles from country songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter: fill for banned together bingo prompt "kidnapping"

She hadn’t thought she would get to fix her personal mistakes, coming back- that wasn’t the point, this was for Jon and Basira and the world, not her- but she also hadn’t thought she would arrive in the middle of one of her greatest regrets. She blinked, hard, willing the scene before her to disappear. It didn’t.

Her body was still rushed with the adrenaline the past her she’d taken her body from had felt, her mouth was still curled in a vindictive sneer, her hands were still curled around the satchel she’d taken from her victim. A million thoughts rushed through her head at once, there and gone in a split second. Was Elias watching? Was the worst of the damage already done? Was Basira already on her way?

None of them mattered. The person she’d become felt only fierce protectiveness and gratitude laced with guilt toward the slight figure knee deep in an oblong pit. “Stop.” It had barely been three seconds since she’d arrived, but it felt like three hours.

Jon dropped the shovel like he’d been burned (he had she’d made it worse her fault monster) and turned to look at her. “D-detective?” He looked even more terrified to find her closer than he’d expected.

She grabbed him by the shoulder (ignored the flinch, there’d be time to deal with that later) and hauled him up out of the hole. The bandages wrapped around his hand had gone dingy and the burn underneath was starting to ooze and bleed through. She’d done that. She’d enjoyed it. “Go sit in the car.”

Jon’s eyes were practically rolling with fear as he looked past her to the car. She followed his gaze. Right. The doors were shut, but the boot was open. She’d made Jon ride here handcuffed in the boot with Mike Crew. Mike Crew who was still lying in the boot but now very, very dead, neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Idiot, he thought she was going to make him climb back in there with a corpse. She had to remember this wasn’t her Jon.

She put an arm around his shoulders and walked him toward the car. He was shaking, but he was relieved enough when she pulled open the passenger door that he let her arrange him there, feet still on the ground and facing sideways out of the vehicle, without complaint. Daisy turned to finish digging the grave (it’d have to be shallow, she couldn’t risk being caught but she also couldn’t stand to let herself be surrounded by earth the way a proper grave would require) before remembering what that kind of desperate fear had led Jon to doing in the past. “Stay put. I have the only key to the car, and there’s nothing else around for miles. Running’d just tire us both out.” He nodded jerkily.

She made quick work of Mike Crew. If she’d learned what he’d done to Jon the first time she lived this night, she’d have laughed, said he deserved it. The her she was now buzzed with vicious anger at the thought (tinged with guilt, she’d done the same, she’d wanted to do worse).

She picked up Jon’s abandoned satchel, tossed it into his lap. The tape recorder was probably still running, or it would be again soon. “Seat belt.”

Jon obeyed with shaking hands, and kept his gaze fixed forward. They drove in silence for a while, but Daisy could see him working his way up to a question (hopefully not a Question).

“Where are we going?” His voice shook, and he said it so quietly and timidly she almost didn’t hear.

She huffed and gestured to his hand. “Hospital.”

Jon’s face worked through a number of expressions as he processed that. He hadn’t taken it to a hospital before because he was afraid she’d find him. It was worse now because she’d made him dig in spite of it (she hoped this time it wouldn’t heal with a groove down the center of his palm where he’d gripped the shovel handle and damaged the flesh even worse, a tertiary reminder of how she’d hurt him in addition to the scar on his throat and the way he couldn’t stand to be in the same room if she was holding anything sharp). Any way you looked at it, the severity of the injury was Daisy’s fault. And now she was the one taking him to get treatment. No wonder he was confused.

“Why?” He flinched as he said it, like he expected her to hit him, good hand holding the bad one to his chest.

She took her eyes off the road for a moment to give him an incredulous look. When she failed to add anything further he tried again.

“I thought you were going to kill me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and she could guess at his thoughts, afraid saying so would make her change her mind but unable to stand the mystery. A wave of fondness cut through her anxiety and self-loathing. She wanted to push past that, leave it an unspoken history between them until its memory was replaced with better ones, the way they had after the coffin.

“I was hunting you.” It wasn’t quite an agreement.

“You caught me.”

She grinned toothily. Elias was probably watching, maybe wondering at the change of course himself. She told herself her words were for his benefit, not the bloody possessiveness of the animal part of her thrilled to be verbalized at last. “I win. Mine now.”

“W-what is?” He curled into himself, trying to seem as small as possible. She put a hand on his shoulder, stroking tiny circles with her thumb. Jon whimpered, then clapped his good hand over his mouth. Daisy drew her hand back, and they made the rest of the drive in silence.

Her stomach felt sour at the realization that even if he wasn’t scarred physically, Jon would likely still consider this the most powerless and terrifying moment of his life, just as he had before. What had really been the worse terror, the knife to his throat or watching her shoot Crew and then stand over him as she made him dig their shared grave? She could practically smell the waves of fear coming off of him from being in the same car with her, but she had to half carry him out of it and into A&E. He shuffled along like a doll, eyes on the ground. She sent up a prayer to nothing at all that she’d be able to do enough good for him to be able to forgive her, this time.

She tuned out most of the hospital procedures, letting Jon stutter out his own explanations and only interjecting when they told her only family could come with him to see the specialist they’d called almost immediately on seeing the state of him, to tell them she was his sister. The nurse looked at her skeptically, but Jon nodded along obediently. Good. She wasn’t about to let him out of her sight with the Circus on the prowl for new costume material. She zoned out as he was treated, focusing on other things.

She didn’t have her phone, not wanting to create more evidence of her hunts than absolutely necessary, so she couldn’t contact Basira yet. That was alright. Even if she ached to see her partner again, Basira could take care of herself without Daisy there. She, at least, was unlikely to charge into danger without at least warning Daisy first. Elias was a problem, but one she felt she could solve before he became too pressing. All she had to do was keep Jon alive and unmarked long enough to figure out how to dispose of him without hurting any of the Institute employees.

It would almost be worth it to just kill him anyway. Martin and Melanie had been allies and reminders of the people who really mattered after she lost them, but she wasn’t especially invested in their well-being. Tim had been dead ages, to her mind, and Basira wasn’t tied to the Institute yet. But losing his assistants would make Jon sad, as well as eliminate the solution of just throwing him at Martin and letting him deal with Jon’s worst moods she’d discovered in the early days after the Change.

When she tuned back in to the conversation, the primary conclusion seemed to be that Jon wasn’t a good candidate for skin grafts. The doctors didn’t seem pleased with Jon’s hand, or whatever undoubtedly awful lie he’d cooked up to explain it, but they also didn’t have a good reason to keep him overnight. Daisy listened attentively to their instructions on care and dressings, accepted the bottles of antibiotics and painkillers after Jon took the first dose to cut off any infection as soon as possible, and herded him back out to the car, hand on his shoulder making it clear they would not be parting ways. Jon waited until they were back in its confines to speak.

“What are you going to do to me now?” The fear was nearly drained out of him by exhaustion and the haze of the painkiller. Now he just sounded small and unsure. She didn’t think he could Compel this out of her right now if he tried, but other than that the tired bewilderment at the unpredictable danger that had taken over his life was perfectly familiar.

Daisy hit the button to lock all the car doors before answering. She didn’t _think_ anything was going to pull the door open and snatch Jon from the hospital parking lot, but she wasn’t willing to rule it out, either, considering his usual luck. “I’m not going to _do_ anything _to_ you.”

“Where are you taking me, then?” He had to feel her eyes on him, but he kept his own fixed downward, fiddling with the edge of one of the bandages wrapped around his burn,  fraying  the threads apart with his fingers .

“Well. Your landlord terminated the last couple months on your lease when you became a murder suspect and went on the run. He was _really_ displeased to see me, I’d rather take on a vampire any day. And your ex-girlfriend’s security couldn’t keep out an especially determined burglar, much less a proper monster.”

“ Please don’t hurt Georgie!” he blurted, then seemed to start at his own daring.  Right. She was the monster. She couldn’t forget that.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for interrupting you! But she doesn’t know anything about any of this.”

“Why would I want to hurt Georgie?” She rolled her eyes. He was always so paranoid. “Anyway, I have a spare room.” She put her key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. Conversation over, as far as she was concerned.

“ _What?_ I-I-I-I can’t stay w-with  _you_ !” She noticed him picking frantically at his bandages from the corner of her eye and glared.

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself. Why not?”

He shoved his good hand under his leg, where it couldn’t rove around without his attention,  just as he always had when one of his nervous fidgets started to get out of control . Good. In answer to her question, he mostly spluttered an interesting variety of indistinct consonants, shaking his head vehemently. 

He still hadn’t worked up a coherent response, mostly lapsing into silence, by the time they made it to her flat. He was starting to get the look in his eye that usually preceded a foolish decision, like running blindly into the night, so she kept a firm hand around his upper arm as she led him inside.  (How did she convince him she wasn’t something he needed to run from?) It didn’t occur to her until they were nearly at the top that while she was used to climbing three flights of stairs every day, Jon might have appreciated the elevator. He was gasping for breath and half collapsed against her as she undid the numerous locks securing her door  (inconsiderate hurt him again monster) . He watched grimly as she refastened them all from the other side.

He’d nearly regained enough breath to start interrogating her again, but she didn’t give him the chance.  She steered him deeper inside, to the half-open door to the guest room. She kept it ready for habitation, just in case Basira ended up working over late, and the signs of her partner’s occasional occupancy were there in the spare scarves draped over the closet door and the eclectic mix of books cluttering shelves and surfaces.  Probably a couple sets of her clothes in the dresser.  Ah, well. She doubted Jon would mind the option of extra reading material.

“Here, see.” She pulled the door open the rest of the way. “Locks from the inside.”  _If you stay here I can keep you safe from everything, even myself_ , she hoped he understood. He didn’t respond, just gazing up at her, expression lost and empty. “It’s late. Do you want to sleep, or do you want me to help you wrap your hand up in plastic so you can shower first?”

Confusion creased his brow for a moment; he’d probably forgotten he wasn’t supposed to get his bandages wet. The motion brought her attention to the muck smudged along his hairline where he’d tried to brush sweaty strands out of his face. With no answer forthcoming, she made the decision for him. “You should shower.”

She guided him to the kitchen, and was proud to see he barely flinched at her careful but clumsy ministrations, simply allowing her to hold his wrist and wrap his injured hand in a construction of tape and plastic. She deposited him at the door to the bathroom and darted into her room to retrieve a clean t-shirt and shorts to loan him for pajamas. She handed him the bundle and nudged him inside. “C’mon, sooner you clean up sooner you can sleep.”

She stayed close, ears alert for the sound of crashing or collapse. Between the adrenaline crash, Jon’s typical exhaustion, and the painkillers… well. She could probably break through the locked door if he slipped and she really had to.

Other than that, she returned to considering how she was going to reshape the future. She was absorbed enough that she didn’t notice how much time was passing, and when Jon finally emerged she couldn’t have said if he’d taken a short shower or an unreasonably long one. Not that she’d mind; they’d both lost their scale for what was a reasonable shower length after the coffin, desperate to hold onto the assurance that as long as they were under the water they weren’t coated in dust and grime.  He didn’t meet her eyes while she unwrapped the tape from his arm, but when he stumbled into the bedroom she heard the lock click behind him, so he was at least that aware still.

When she was sure she had an actionable list of goals and had answered the half dozen missed calls and texts Basira had sent her with a generic assurance she was fine and a more specific reply to some of her partner’s inquiries that she’d found Jonathan Sims but he remained very much alive, she tiptoed over to the door and pressed her ear to it. When she was sure she could hear the even breaths interspersed with muttering that meant Jon was really asleep, deep enough he was unlikely to awaken before she got back,  she set out to accomplish the errands needed to keep Jon there, sure she would be back before he woke and careful to do up all the locks behind her .


	2. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon has a rough night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter: fill for my banned together bingo free space, where I'm using "negativity" (rip to jon he was made for this prompt please go to therapy king)

Normally, when he needed to cry without being heard, Jon was in the habit of  chewing and biting down hard on the knuckles of his left hand. Usually if he managed to cause any lingering soreness it was fine, it wasn’t as though it was his dominant hand. Now, however, he couldn’t even his that faint comfort for fear of being left with neither of his hands fully functional without pain. Instead, he had to press his face as deeply into the pillow of the unfamiliar bed as he could and pray the  woman outside his door couldn’t hear.

He was certain she could. She was probably sitting outside the door laughing at him, at how pathetic he was for crying even as a grown man and for thinking the simple door lock would be enough to keep her out if she really wanted in. Laughing at him as she had been throughout this entire ordeal. Needling his fears and insecurities and watching him jump and judder trying to contain his reactions.

He’d really thought he was going to die today, between Mike and Daisy.  H e’d been certain he’d be left to fall forever, or buried in an anonymous grave, or have his neck snapped when his stuttering lies to hospital staff inevitably fell through and cast suspicion on the “sister” he looked nothing like.

Every time sleep drew near he remembered the feeling of a firm hand massaging his shoulder, both a simulated comfort and mark of ownership at once. What did Daisy consider him now, if he was no longer a suspect or an adversary or prey? Was he a guest? A prisoner? A  _pet_ ?

He’d considered the window and its fire escape, but like a fool he’d dropped his clothing into the laundry basket in the bathroom without thinking, and left his muddy shoes behind as well. He didn’t fancy the idea of navigating London at night, barefoot and wearing oversized pajamas. And eventually Georgie was going to get sick of him losing his wardrobe without explanation and stop giving him  _What the Ghost?_ merch to wear. 

Besides, if he went to Georgie’ s Daisy would follow. She’d  _threatened_ Georgie, made it clear that now she knew where he’d went (how  _did_ she know that?) she’d have no difficulty reaching him there. The Archives were hardly a secure or unexpected hiding place either, unless he wanted to follow Leitner’s example and start living in the depths of the tunnels, take his chances with whatever might find him without the aid of  _A Disappearance_ . She wasn’t wrong when she’d said he had nowhere else to go.

And he was so  _tired…_ .

-

The first thing that alerted him to the fact that he was no longer at Georgie’s, when morning came, was the absence of a warm, fuzzy weight on his chest. The Admiral had made a habit out of using his chest as a mattress ever since he’d moved in with Georgie (and he’d allowed it over Georgie’s protests that he was  _spoiling_ her son dreadfully, stop undermining her authority as cat-parent  _Jon_ ). He missed The Admiral. It had been more comforting than he could articulate to have a companion who didn’t judge him for the deaths he’d caused or failed to prevent, who was entirely oblivious to the monsters and mayhem that now dominated Jon’s life, and who would cuddle up to him without hesitation.

He stared dully around the room. He hadn’t taken it in much the night before, but there wasn’t really much to see. Generic décor, more books than he’d expect from Daisy, a few scarves he thought might indicate Basira’s past presence.  It was hardly a prison cell- he wasn’t even locked in, technically, just afraid of the sentinel he might find outside the safety of the door and certain he wouldn’t be able to unfasten all the locks on the front door and escape before she caught him- but it was unfamiliar enough that in combination with his circumstances it seemed quietly hostile, as though the drapes might decide to strangle him for trespassing if he wasn’t careful. The only evidence of Jon’s own presence was the rumpled bed and his satchel strewn haphazardly over the floor. 

He jolted. His satchel! It was even more difficult to navigate the clasps with the hospital dressings than it had been with his own improvisations with the contents of Georgie’s first aid kit, but when he finally fumbled it open his recorder and phone spilled out.

He gave a moment’s thought to the recorder (had that much tape been used when he put it away after Mike Crew’s statement?) but quickly moved on to the phone. The charge was lower than he would’ve liked, but it had signal and enough power to inform him it was 5:45 AM. The lockscreen was crammed with notifications alerting him to missed calls and texts from Georgie, demanding to know why he hadn’t reappeared that night, and was he okay?  There was even one from Melanie, a terse admonition that he’d better have a good reason for worrying Georgie so much or Melanie would give him one.

The brief euphoria of having a way to contact the outside world faded a bit as he contemplated his response. What could Georgie, or anyone else for that matter, really do to help him? He couldn’t exactly text back “kidnapped by insane murderous police officer, send help.” Angry as it made her, it was better to stick to the same vagueness that he’d been maintaining with Georgie since he got back in contact. 

“I’m alive. Sorry for the worry. You may not see me for a bit. Give The Admiral my love.”

That would have to do.

He didn’t expect an immediate response, Georgie had always been a late sleeper, but he found himself staring at the blank screen nonetheless. He drifted, too bored for action and too anxious to go back to sleep, for an indeterminate amount of time. He should have been thinking of ways to get away, to resume as much of his  _normal_ life as he could, to get back to the Archives and the mysteries he was sure they held the answers to, but. What could he really do, now that Daisy had caught him? The chase was over, and he’d lost. He should just be grateful he wasn’t dead, or in  an actual prison. 

He was startled out of his blankness by a sharp rap at the door. “Jon? Are you awake? I can see your shadow under the door, you better not have slept on the floor, it’s not good for you!”

What would she do to him if he slept on the floor? Why did she  _care_ ? “Y-yes, I’m awake!” His voice squeaked embarrassingly.

“Do you want to come out and have breakfast? I’ve got scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. And you need to take your prescriptions.” 

He clicked his phone’s power button to see how much time he’d lost. 8:15. It  set him further off-kilter , now that he was aware of it, that he hadn’t noticed the smell of food cooking or  Daisy moving around the kitchen. He stumbled to his feet instead of answering, shoving his phone and the recorder back into his bag as he stood. It would be noticeably odd that he was wearing it with pajamas, but he didn’t have any pockets and didn’t want to risk losing track of his phone, so it would have to do.

His instinctive step back, when he saw how close Daisy had been to the door, practically leaning against the frame, was aborted when he saw what was behind her. “What… where did the boxes come from?”

A hand went to the small of his back, guiding him out into the main area of the flat. Why did she keep  _touching_ him? Did she really think that he couldn’t just follow her? Or that he was dumb enough to try to run from her  _here_ ? “Landlord let me box most of your stuff up to throw into evidence. I’ve been combing through it whenever I ran out of other leads on finding you. But it’s no longer evidence for any active cases, so… figured you’d want your own clothes back.”

He struggled not to flinch at how casually she brought up her pursuit of him. “Thank you?” It came out sounding more like a question than he’d intended. Daisy hummed and brought him into the kitchen, depositing him on a barstool. 

“Help yourself.” He didn’t quite understand how she thought such a quantity of food was necessary for only two people, but accepted the empty plate and set of silverware she handed him. “Let me know if you need a hand with anything… ‘cause of your hand.”

He looked down, avoiding eye contact. “No, thank you, Detective Tonner.”

“I’ve  _told_ you to call me Daisy,” she growled. When he risked a glance up her mouth was quirked up at the corners, and he could see her teeth. They looked very sharp.

“Sorry, Daisy.” He tried to move on from his mistake by serving himself some eggs, and resolutely ignored the way the serving spoon shook in his hand. 

Daisy eyed his plate as he tried to spread jam on his toast one-handed, but she didn’t intervene. “Do you not eat meat? Or pork?” She squinted at him like she was trying to read the answer from his mind.

“N-no, I do. Eat meat and pork, that is.” He hadn’t wanted to draw her ire by taking too much food, and so had let the half dozen slices of bacon be, reasoning someone as active as Daisy might be possessive of her protein, or at least less irritable if she got the lion’s share. He hadn’t considered that taking too  _little_ might have the very effect he’d wanted to avoid.

Daisy’s mouth curled a bit (exasperation? Annoyance? He’d seen her anger and it wasn’t that, unless this was a quiet anger with just as much potential to be dangerous) and she hummed again, sliding half the bacon onto his plate. When she seemed to be waiting for a reaction, Jon just nodded, torn between thanking her and apologizing. 

It was a larger breakfast than he usually ate (when he had breakfast, instead of relying on the jolt of coffee on an empty stomach to start his day) but he was careful to clean his plate, mindful now of Daisy’s reaction. He’d thought the quantities of eggs and toast excessive, but she was rapidly demolishing them like she hadn’t eaten in days. Still, when he finished there were still servings of each left.

“Want any more?” Daisy asked, gesturing to the food as though she could be referring to anything else. He shook his head. “You sure?” He shook his head again, and apparently the confirmation was all she needed to dump the rest onto her own plate and continue working through it at speed. Should he go over to the sink and wash his dishes? Was that too presumptuous? Or would she be angry at him for sitting there like a lump when she’d gone through the trouble to make him breakfast and return his things? 

He hadn’t come to an answer before Daisy finished eating, scooped up his plate along with the rest, and let them all rattle down into the sink. He startled, hard, at the loud noise in the quiet kitchen.

“Here.” she held up a pair of bottles and dumped one pill from each into her palm, holding them out to him. “Antibiotic and painkiller.”

“Which is which?” 

“Why?”

He glanced at her face. He’d regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth, but he didn’t think he could get away now without giving a reason. “The- I don’t like the painkiller. It made my head all…” he waved his hand lamely.

Daisy gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t have to take it.  Doctors said you could alternate over the counter instead.  If I write up a schedule of when to take new doses of ibuprofen and acetaminophen will you remember to actually follow it?”

“I’m fine, it really doesn’t hurt that much!” It hurt quite a lot, a pulsing ache whenever it brushed against something or he tried to twitch a finger, but the conversation felt as though it were spiraling out of his control. He shouldn’t have said anything.

She gave him a stern look. “Jonathan.” Was that how she’d looked at him when she’d mysteriously decided he… what, got to live, or was just no good at digging graves, and ordered him to drop the shovel? “I’d like to know if you’re hurting. Please don’t lie to me.”

He stared back at her wide-eyed, and felt tears rising to his eyes.  _Why_ ? Why was he crying, why did she care, why was he here?

He tried to pull in a quiet breath, but it stuttered until it was almost a sob. If he let it out it almost certainly would be, so he held his breath. Just until something else drew her focus…

Daisy’s expression dropped. “Jon…” She came around the counter, dropping back onto the barstool  nearest to him and squeezing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to. I just don’t want it to hurt.” She slowly drew him toward her shoulder into a truly awkward hug, neither of them seemingly sure of what to do with their limbs. Jon pressed his face into her shoulder and prayed it would muffle his crying (for the second time in under 12 hours, what was  _wrong_ with him?) and that she  somehow  wouldn’t notice the wet spot seeping into her shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, comment, kudos, or find me on tumblr @inklingofadream! XD


	3. Daisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> making this a series, as i have an idea for a sequel fic i believe i'm going to write :3
> 
> chapter: fill for banned together bingo prompt "sympathetic villain" (sorry daisy, you're trying but you're not the good guy today!)

Daisy frantically reviewed the morning, trying to see where exactly she’d gone wrong. Jon had been fine, he was eating, he may not have been talking much but the two of them didn’t always, and then when she’d tried to give him his prescriptions he’d just  _collapsed_ . She rubbed his back in stilted circles, letting him weep into her shoulder. Was it the burn? Had something she’d done, or maybe just the mention of the medication at all, reminded him of Jude Perry viscerally enough to crack his control  (just another monster just someone else who wanted to hurt him) ? He hadn’t wanted the painkiller, was he afraid she’d  _make_ him take it? He had to know she wouldn’t!

Only… he didn’t, did he? This wasn’t  _her_ Jon. He had all the seeds of the man who’d climbed into the coffin after her in spite of all she’d done, all the quirks and personality she’d learned after, and even if this Jon wouldn’t be willing to do the same she’d love him just as fiercely as she loved Basira and his other self for the mere potential. But he wasn’t the same, and she’d forgotten. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered into his hair, at the same time mentally chanting  _he’s not the same, he’s not the same._ Had she ever  _seen_ him cry before? 

Maybe she’d come off too harshly. She hadn’t meant to let the anxiety and rage that had thrummed under her skin since reading Basira’s response to her own reassurances leak out and effect Jon, but maybe it had anyway. She tried to focus as much of herself as possible into the moment, rubbing his back and holding him, and not on the message.

It had been short. So short, and yet so cataclysmic. “I got a new job,” and a picture of a signed contract declaring Basira the newest Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute. Elias had been ahead of her somehow. Basira wouldn’t have done it on her own, even without knowing she couldn’t quit- she knew how Daisy felt about the place, and if it had been her idea the text would have ended in an exclamation point. Not a grim statement. 

The second text felt just a damning, in its own way. “My new boss asked me to ask you to come in and speak with him tomorrow.  And he says he’d like his Archivist back ”  (not his not his  _hers)._ She had to get herself in order enough that she didn’t attack him outright, or give the whole game away. 

She’d known she’d have to go back to the Institute, Jon would want to go back to work now he was no longer a murder suspect if nothing else, but she’d really thought Basira was clear of the whole mess.

When Jon’s shaky sobs finally subsided, she released him to wrap his arms around himself (crushed the urge to reach out and stop him before he could curl his injured hand and wince at the reminding pain) and tried to get the rest of their morning in order. It wasn’t difficult to round up a complete outfit, since she was the once who had packed his things into boxes. She wondered what had happened to them the first time around. She certainly hadn’t been warm enough toward him to return them then. Maybe they’d still been moldering in evidence when the Change happened. 

When she came back to the kitchen Jon had clearly tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to scrub the tear tracks from his face, but other than that and the redness around his eyes he looked himself. She passed him the bundle of clothes silently and removed the painkiller from where she’d left both tablets on the counter. His eyes darted down, hands twisting in his lap as much as they could with one so heavily bandaged. “May I have some ibuprofen?” His voice was still thick and raspy from tears.

“Course. Take your antibiotic.” She gave him a moment of quiet as she found the bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen before continuing. “You can go back to work today, if you want, since you’re no longer a murder suspect and all.”

Jon’s eyebrows scrunched together, questions flickering over his face at the speed of light. “What- Can I- I mean- Yes!” He looked up with wide eyes as she handed him his ibuprofen. Had he thought she was going to keep him locked up in the apartment? (Why wouldn’t he monster hurt him scared him monster)

She smiled at him. “Go get dressed. I’ll drive you there, seeing as I have business with your boss anyway.” And because she could still remember watching him be emptied out until he really was nothing more than a vessel for the Archive, seeing Basira torn apart by bony hands, the ground falling out from under Martin…. Better he stay where she could see him.

Jon stood, clothes held tight to his chest, but  didn’t move, gnawing at his lip. “He did it you know. Elias. Killed Gertrude and Leitner.” 

“I know.” Jon’s face twisted in confusion, and she gave him a gentle push to set him on his way.

-

Jon was practically vibrating in her passenger seat when they arrived at the Institute, knuckles white around the strap of his bag and glancing over at her every few seconds as though he thought she was going to turn the car around and tell him it was all a joke. It was starting to get annoying. 

She pulled him up the steps and past the staring receptionist by the elbow, descending along the familiar path to the Archives. He started to step ahead of her a little as they neared the bottom of the stairs, pulling just a bit at her hold on his arm. Jokes on him, if he wanted her to let go he was going to have to use his words.

Jon entered the Archives ahead of her, but she didn’t need to see the face of the first person to spot him to imagine it based on his tone and long experience. “ _Boss_ . Heard you’re not a murderer any more. Enjoy your break?”

Jon’s steps stuttered so that Daisy almost stumbled over him. “T-Tim! It’s good to see you!”

Daisy tuned out that conversation to focus on the person who had stood on her entrance. “ _Basira_ .” 

She’d thought about her partner every day since losing her, thought she had her face committed to memory, but she hadn’t remembered her properly at all. She’d forgotten the way her forehead got a tiny crease when she was unsure of a situation, the peculiar curl of her mouth… 

“Daisy.” 

Daisy wrapped an arm around her as soon as she stepped out from behind her desk, the other still latched onto Jon. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, but I think you should have that meeting with Elias before I explain any more. Probably should’ve had it before coming down here, he doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to be kept waiting.” Daisy hummed in acknowledgment rather than spill out any of the invective she had stored against Elias.

“ He can wait. Business here first.” Reluctantly, she drew out of the hug and dropped her grip on Jon, looking over Basira’s shoulder. “Blackwood.”

Martin, who had been vacillating between looking wistfully at Jon and nervously at her, jumped so hard he nearly knocked a desk over. “M-me?”

“Him?” Basira echoed, so quiet only Daisy heard. She held back a giggle  and gave Basira’s hand a squeeze .

“Conference room, c’mon.” Martin stumbled after her into the little room where she’d interrogated him, Tim, and Elias about Jon a million years ago. She pulled the door shut behind him and dug what she needed out of her bag. 

“Jon’s hand.” 

Martin turned red and drew himself up. “It’s hurt, I saw, what does he need that many bandages for, what did you  _do_ ?” His fists were clenched as though he were resisting the urge to beat it out of her.

She gave him a look. “Wasn’t me. Whole palm is burned. They gave him this,” she passed over a plastic bag, neatly labeled with Sharpie and only holding a couple pills, “at the hospital for pain, but he doesn’t like what it does to his head. I gave him ibuprofen at 9, but he needs to-”

“Alternate it with acetaminophen, I know.  My mum… I’ve done this before. ” She handed Martin those bottles, pulled from the numerous spares she liked to keep handy, wordlessly. “Um… why are you telling  _me_ this? Jon’s an adult. He doesn’t need you  _or_ me monitoring his health.”

She rolled her eyes. “You  _know_ that’s not true. He’ll get caught up and forget to take his next dose. You won’t. “

Martin nodded. “...And you care… why?”

Daisy turned and left without answering. She had another meeting to deal with, if Martin didn’t have any more  _productive_ questions.  Another brief stop to press a faint kiss to the top of Basira’s head and hold her close, to note Jon’s location securely tucked away in his office, and she was off to face Elias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy: I'm not going to stop touching Jon until he uses his words to ask  
> Jon: If I use my words to ask her to stop touching me she will most assuredly kill me  
> *thisisfine.jpg*


	4. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter: fill for banned together bingo prompt "giving up" :(

Jon’s knees nearly gave out when he realized Basira was in the Archives, when he realized _why_ Basira was in the Archives. He couldn’t glean the whole story from Melanie and Tim’s angry mutterings and Martin’s halting explanation, but he managed to piece together that Basira had come looking for Daisy, which had somehow lead to Elias coercing her into signing an employment contract so he could leverage her _against_ Daisy, and confirmation that Jon hadn’t been responsible for any of the Archives’ losses. Or at least, that he hadn’t killed anyone himself.

He could almost make the shape of it fit. Maybe Daisy had taken him in a mirror of what Elias had done with Basira. Maybe when she’d said she’d won she wasn’t referring to the chase, but to some larger game she was playing against Elias with him as the prize. He didn’t know what she thought she’d get out of such an arrangement, given he was still tied to the Institute and he didn’t think his well-being actually rated particularly highly among Elias’ priorities, but maybe. He couldn’t see why she’d bother feeding him and getting him medical treatment if that were the case, though. Or why she’d risk bringing him back within Elias’ reach. That much at least hadn’t changed with the addition of Basira; eager as he was to get back to the Archives and people who didn’t actively want to kill him, he couldn’t make sense of Daisy’s decision to allow him out of her flat at all.

He didn’t have much to do aside from focusing on these thoughts. He’d been thrilled when Daisy had said he could come in to work. He’d meant to tell the whole story to Martin, Melanie, and Tim as soon as he was out of her sight. He’d had to discard that plan in its entirety when he saw Basira in the Archives. There was no way he could talk to the other three without her getting suspicious and either demanding to be included or eavesdropping, and he was sure she’d tell Daisy if he said anything about her. Basira’s presence meant any hope of a clandestine escape plan was doomed.

Additionally, he couldn’t even distract himself with work. He still fumbled every time he tried to use his computer mouse left handed, and writing was entirely out of the question. He ended up rifling one-handed through statements he’d already recording and obsessively refreshing his email in hopes of at least the novelty of an irrelevant interdepartmental memo.

He was forced to wonder if Elias had been watching him do so when an email did appear. It was only a single line: “Please come to my office in 5 minutes to discuss your return to work.”

Reemerging from his office drew every eye in the Archives. He shrunk a little under the attention, even though he knew it should be nothing compared to the pressure of being Watched he felt whenever he recorded a genuine Statement. “I- Meeting with Elias.”

Three sets of staring eyes returned to their previous occupations, while the friendliest remained on him. “Be safe. I’ll have tea waiting when you get back?”

“Yes, I- Thank you, Martin.” He wished he had the energy to make it sound sincere rather than dismissive. He _had_ missed Martin’s tea.

What was his life coming to that a meeting with his _boss_ was met with _be safe_?

The door to Elias’ office was swinging open as he arrived outside it, revealing the man in question standing next to Daisy. Daisy was giving him a glare that could melt steel. “As you can see, I have a meeting with my Archivist to attend to.”

When Daisy’s eyes landed on him, her face twisted into something so full of rage it made Jon tremble. She crossed the distance between them in two long strides and tucked Jon neatly behind her back. “He’s not _your_ anything.”

Elias arched an eyebrow. “I understand you’ve become… infatuated… with him, but I really must insist.” Jon felt like he was frozen to the spot, unable to voice his support for either side. No matter who won, Jon felt like he was losing. They’d both killed people, he recalled with a chill, and more than once. “There are things Jon needs to know about our master. A lot is resting on him.”

Daisy snarled. “You just want to manipulate him. C’mon, Jon.” She started to herd him back toward the stairs. Jon let himself be herded. Elias could be angry if he wanted, it wasn’t _his_ neck on the line.

“Jon, come here.” There was a shiver of something _other_ behind the words, something that made Jon want to run back and take refuge in Elias’ office, something that made his steps stutter . Daisy’s hand clenched around his shoulder, keeping him on his current trajectory. “Let him _go_ , detective. This is your last chance.”

Jon wasn’t entirely clear what happened next. Daisy curled in on herself like she’d had the wind knocked out of her, and when she straightened there were tears running down her cheeks, but Jon couldn’t see any cause. Daisy half-turned to shout back at Elias, never stopping their retreat. “You’ll have to do better than _that_ . He’s _mine_.”

-

Jon spent most of the remainder of the day trying not to spiral into despair in his office. Daisy had left after a period of intense whispered conference with Basira, and his assistants were giving him the cold shoulder- aside from Martin’s appearances to ensure he kept up regular doses of over the counter painkillers. Daisy must have put him up to it, but why did Martin obey? Was she threatening him, as well? He _needed_ to know, but had no idea how to ask without drawing suspicion. He couldn’t let anything else happen to his assistants.

He planned to stay through the night, sleep in Document Storage, and hope Daisy forgot about him, but he should have known he wasn’t that lucky. Melanie and Tim had left a quarter of an hour early, and Martin had followed minutes later, only poking his head in to remind Jon not to stay too late and leaving him and Basira the only ones left in the Archives.

When he heard Daisy’s footfall on the steps, he all but held his breath in the animal conviction that if he didn’t move or make a sound the predator would pass him by, take Basira with her and leave. Then, he held his breath for a new reason as her quiet conversation with Basira turned away from pleasantries.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with him, Daisy?”

“He’s _mine_ , like you’re mine. You’re the only two people I really… Bouchard can’t have either of you.”

“But why? Why Jon?”

A sigh. “I don’t want to be a monster, Basira. _Don’t_ interrupt. He doesn’t want to be one either. And have you seen him? He’s monster bait. Got menaced three times in the last two days.” Jon noted that she left out the fact she’d been one of the ones doing the menacing. “Someone ought to look out for him, because he’s not going to do it himself. Idiot.” The insult sounded far, far fonder than Jon was comfortable with.

“You aren’t usually one for strays. There’s something else going on here.” Jon’s head spun with _mine_ and _infatuated_ and the feeling of her possessive hand steering him. And over that, Leitner’s voice, _you belong to it too_. What if catching him had somehow… transferred ownership, handing him off to Daisy like a used car? If she saw him the same way she saw Basira… she wouldn’t hurt Basira. He was sure of that much. But he also couldn’t dismiss the image of Daisy pressing a kiss to Basira’s forehead before she’d left that morning. She couldn’t. That couldn’t be it. Could it? He was uncomfortably aware of just how badly he would fare in a physical confrontation against Daisy.

“Yeah. There is something else. But I can’t tell you yet. Trust me?”

Another sigh. “Of course, just… be careful.”

“Always. Movie night Friday? I’ll even let you pick.”

Half a laugh. “I guess.”

The footsteps started again, coming closer, and Jon rocketed back to his seat as quietly as possible, stomach turning and trying desperately to look like he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Daisy seemed to loom in the doorway when she stepped in.

“C’mon, Jon. Closing time. Wrap it up.”

He obeyed with shaking hands, stretching out every possible activity that he could believably lie about being part of his end of day routine and doing some of them twice. When he finally stood up and joined her, head bowed, the wry smile on her face gave the impression she knew exactly what he’d been doing, and chosen to allow it.

Basira stepped in on the side Daisy didn’t occupy, bumping his shoulder companionably but otherwise ignoring him. Whatever Daisy had planned, he’d been right in his guess that Basira approved of it, at least enough not to prevent it from happening. He was sweating far more than anyone had a right to in April. Bracketed by the two, he left the Institute, only getting a moment of peace from the claustrophobia when Basira strode off toward the Tube and Daisy led him to climb into her car yet again. At least she hadn’t made him repeat his first journey in it, riding in the boot.

-

Things continued in the same bewildering strain. Daisy made sure he ate breakfast and dinner every day, and took his medications and changed his dressngs until his hand was as healed and functional as it ever would be. Between her and Martin’s stubborn insistence on bringing him sandwiches at lunch time and making mild comments about better ways to spend a lunch break than working through, he was eating more consistently than he could ever remember doing. He didn’t sleep in the Archives; he barely stayed late. Elias kept trying to meet with him, but something always seemed to prevent a private meeting. Whatever secrets he chose to spill or lies he told were uttered in the presence of the full Archives staff, plus Daisy.

Daisy didn’t seem to mind him leaving her flat. She even had a set of keys made for him the first time one of her missions (he was never sure which were for Elias and which where self-assigned) took her away overnight, making him promise up down and sideways that he’d keep the door fully locked. She made sure he came back at the end of every work day, her eyes gleamed with satisfaction at seeing him there (when Basira arrived for movie night he’d almost thought Daisy might start purring with contentment having at all three of them tucked behind the door’s myriad locks), and the casual, possessive, and casually possessive touches continued.

But nothing ever crossed the line past platonic. She didn’t hurt him. The closest she came was the night she seemed seized by some sort of panic attack, and had stopped responding to anything he said. She’d just scooped him up (and he really didn’t like how obviously easy that was for her) and curled up with him on her bed, held him tightly and whimpered unintelligible pleas and reassurances into his hair until he fell asleep, unable to escape her embrace or get through to her no matter how he wriggled and pleaded.

He only tried to bring up Daisy’s strange behavior (how scared he was all the time, not the generalized dread of knowing what kind of things were out there in the world, of being Watched, but the specific terror of a hard face and a gun looming over an open grave, of harsh hands pulling his arms behind his back and tossing him into the boot of a car, of being hunted) with someone else once. He’d stopped Martin when the other man brought him tea, nudging the office door closed so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Um, Martin, you know Daisy…?” It was a stupid way to start the conversation, and he should have planned better, but he’d only begun it at all in a burst of spontaneous courage.

Martin beamed. “Yeah, I think it’s really nice the two of you are friends. It’s good for you. What about her?”

He sputtered and eventually came up with something innocuous, inconsequential. He’d obviously expected Basira to side with Daisy, and Melanie and Tim weren’t his biggest fans these days, but he’d thought Martin was different. He was sure they all saw how she never let him get more than a couple steps away when she was here, how she was always touching and holding him in place, the nervous tremble and frightened, hunched posture he tried to disguise. He’d accepted that his conviction that everyone was out to get him, and behavior pursuant to that, had driven them away, ironically changing their opinion of him so that they really were set against him- at least enough not to intervene. But he hadn’t thought he’d driven Martin away enough for his fears to be brushed off so bluntly. It stung, realizing that Martin must see the kind of thing he was Becoming, must think that it was better he be kept under Daisy’s thumb, where he could be watched and kept under control.

He’d tentatively mentioned looking for a flat of his own, once or twice. Daisy never _said_ anything, but she was tense and snappish for days afterward, even more prone to pressing him into her side or sleeping propped up against the wall outside his door (though he didn’t think she knew he’d caught her at the latter). And she knew things- more than she was telling him. Maybe more than anyone else he could ask, save Elias. If he had any confidence in his escape routes or his control over whatever abilities his Becoming granted him, he would have tried to compel it out of her. The lure of knowledge kept him rooted when all else failed.

The boxes of his things moved into the spare room, then his clothes made their way into the dresser, then the rest of his odds and ends worked their way into various locations around the flat until one day he realized that almost nothing of Basira remained in the room, just his own things, and the boxes were all empty. At some point, the room had stopped being Daisy’s spare and become his. She smiled at him, and always invited him out to the living room when Basira came over for movie nights. She teased him about dressing like an old man, and listened the _The Archers_ , and didn’t lash out at him when he unthinkingly teased her back for it. He could almost pretend to himself they were normal flatmates. Or at least as close to normal as their lives could be.

The illusion broke, however, every time her hand tightened on his arm, reminding him how much she hated losing sight of him anywhere but the flat or Archives and just how much damage she could deal him if she wanted. Every time her presence startled him enough to spill his tea and he was only met with disdainful scoffs and Martin’s usual fussing. Every time he had to double check that his door was locked to feel safe enough to fall asleep. Every time she came home smelling of blood, with dirt under her nails.

If he could just pretend well enough, maybe it would get easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a sequel to this in the works ft. other characters' perspectives and a slightly happier ending for Jon; hopefully I'll be able to start posting next week :)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, in the meantime you could comment, kudos, find me on tumblr @inklingofadream, or check out my other Daisy time travel fic, Till Things Are Brighter!


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